


A Leopard Cannot Change His Spots

by cford114



Category: Maurice (1987), Maurice - E. M. Forster
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-08 19:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11653347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cford114/pseuds/cford114
Summary: "It was a strange feeling, permanently parting with all physical memory of the man that had unmasked Maurice’s heart, opened him up and set him free into a world of truth. While it was all over now, such an act of fondness could never really be forgotten."The first chapter in an endearing epilogue to E.M. Forster's "Maurice." I couldn't bear to part with Forster's brilliant characters when I felt their story was just beginning.





	1. Ends and Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Almost every fic I've read with these characters has either been too short or has thrust Maurice and Alec into the horrors of World War I. While that's historically sound, imo they've both had enough heartbreak for one life and just deserve happiness. Even Forster agreed that's what he had in mind when he finished the novel, though he didn't write it.
> 
> So I did. It won't be as beautiful as Forster's prose, but I sure had fun writing it.
> 
> I should note that I'm American and living in 2017, not 1917, so I apologize if the dialogue seems odd. 
> 
> Descriptions are taken from both the novel and the movie.
> 
> In the novel, Forster uses the term "friend" to mean "lover," I'm guessing because of when it was written, so I've continued that.

31 August 1913

Pendersleigh Boathouse

  


Faint rays of light slipped through the splintering wooden panels of the boathouse wall like silk ribbons. Narrow shadows broke the rays, appearing and disappearing as the trees outside wavered in the wind. Maurice’s half-open eyes adjusted to his dimly-lit surroundings while his consciousness gradually followed. Turning his head from the paneled wall, he noticed a hand resting gingerly on his stomach. Alec’s hand.

 

“Alec,” Maurice whispered. Alec did not stir. “Alec!” He whispered again, shaking his friend’s hand to wake him.

 

“Hm? Oh, g’morning, Maurice,” Alec murmured, pulling himself up to lay his head upon Maurice’s chest. Maurice inhaled deeply, watching Alec’s untamed mop of curls rise and fall. Birds began to sing in the distance, breaking the silence between Maurice’s breaths.

 

“Alec, as much as I’d love to spend ages lying with you, I think it would be best if we left soon,” Maurice said softly, reaching to rest his hand against the small of Alec’s back.

 

“I s’pose you’re right,” replied Alec. “Though I dunno where else to go. I hadn’t really thought about it.”

 

Maurice hadn’t thought about it, either, he realized. He sat up against the damp wooden wall, Alec adjusting to lean against Maurice’s shoulder.

 

“I still have my flat in the city,” Maurice finally offered, furrowing his brow. “My own flat. We’d be safe there, until we decide on a real plan.”

 

“How d’ya mean?”

 

“I mean a plan to leave England. Or London, at the least. There are too many people who know us. It’s too much of a risk. It’s for the best that we leave as soon as we can and get on with our lives somewhere else,” Maurice explained.

 

“Where will we go?” Alec wondered aloud.

 

“We’ll speak of it later,” Maurice asserted. “As for now, I’d really like to get as far away from Pendersleigh as we can.”

 

Alec nodded in agreement. “The train station is only a few kilometers west--I think we could make it in an hour or two. If we stay in the wood beside the road, no one should see us,” he offered.

 

“So let’s be off, then,” Maurice said, turning to kiss his friend.

 

Alec returned the kiss before standing up, his pale, slender frame appearing even thinner in the soft light of breaking dawn.

 

“Now where are--” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he searched around the boathouse for his clothes.

 

“Oh, right,” he half-chuckled, spotting the damp corner where his and Maurice’s clothes lay, strewn about in rumpled heaps. Maurice blushed, remembering both the emotional reunion from the night before and the things that came afterwards.

 

***

 

“It’s not even light yet,” Alec remarked, pushing the door open just enough to let in the pastel morning haze. In the distance, Maurice could see the faint yellow glow of the Pendersleigh porch lights. He was momentarily reminded of his conversation with Clive the night before. _More of a parting speech than a conversation_ , Maurice thought to himself. It was a strange feeling, permanently parting with all physical memory of the man that had unmasked Maurice’s heart, opened him up and set him free into a world of truth. While it was all over now, such an act of fondness could never really be forgotten.

 

“The road is this way,” Alec said, pointing with one hand and clasping Maurice’s hand with the other. “It shouldn’t take long, but try to be quiet. No one should be about yet, but I’d rather not take the risk. Are you ready?”

 

Maurice nodded slowly and silently, allowing himself a fleeting moment of reverie in Alec’s bewitching brown gaze. Alec tugged Maurice along, leading him out onto the dock and then along the pond bank. Following Alec, Maurice turned his sight back towards the fading yellow porch lights. As they grew fainter and fainter, Maurice reminisced silently of his days with Clive; days of first love and a companionship neither of them had experienced before. He wondered if they’d ever cross paths again. He loved Alec now; still he felt a tiny tug at his heart at the thought of never seeing or knowing of Clive again. Alec began to pull harder on Maurice’s wrist, quickening his pace, and Maurice turned his head back towards his friend and followed him farther into the dark obscurity of the forest.

 

***

 

While Maurice felt clumsy and out of place among the greenwood, Alec’s years of gamekeeping for the Durhams served him well as he gracefully maneuvered the irregular terrain. He effortlessly strolled through paths in the dirt and brush as Maurice stumbled behind him, struggling to see in the perse light of dawn.

 

The light gradually grew warmer and brighter as the sun rose, the two men moving closer and closer towards the road. Finally, they began to see glimpses of the clearing and started to follow the road west just as the sun made its way fully above the horizon. Alec guided Maurice through the foliage, careful to remain just a few meters inside the brush to avoid detection by passing cars

 

“I reckon if we ‘urry, we could make it in less than two hours,” Alec remarked.  “Catch the eight AM to London.”

 

Maurice nodded silently, unsure if conversation was appropriate. The road was quiet: the only sounds that broke the Sunday morning silence were the croaks of frogs and the chirping of songbirds. It was unlikely that anyone would even be out this early, let alone spot the two men in the brush, but they both still held a fear inside that compelled them to disengage from conversation as they walked. Tense and on edge, Maurice took out a cigarette and offered one to Alec. The two men walked on, noiselessly, followed only by tufts of their smoke and the rising summer sun.


	2. Aching Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes, I do. I love you, Maurice. I have since that night, I think.”
> 
> Alec and Maurice arrive in London and have their first moments alone in Maurice's flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One complaint I've always had about the novel and the movie is how little of Alec we get to experience. We get to know Maurice so intimately, yet we know next to nothing about the man he falls in love with. It's a shame, really, as Alec has such potential, and he's the one who ends up sparking change in Maurice, allowing him to disregard social class and societal expectations for the first time in his life. I tried to expand Alec's character, give him a little substance to complement what Forster had written.
> 
> I feel like some of the conversations I've written of Maurice/Alec are conversations that may have happened, logically, when they were courting each other at Pendersleigh/Penge, but we don't get to SEE those, so here they are. Imagined, of course.

London, England

 

Alec and Maurice were not the only passengers on the eight o’clock to London--a few travelers and families heading to church rode among them. Maurice bought the tickets and the two men sat in a far corner of the car. Though they knew no one, they still rode silently as to draw as little attention to themselves as possible. In the seats across from them, Maurice watched a woman smile at her husband, a gurgling baby on her lap. He felt Alec’s shoulder lean against his and nudged him away--even such a meager touch in public still unsettled him.

 

The train ride felt an eternity, as did the short walk from the station to Maurice’s flat. Heads down, they continued on--Alec a few strides behind Maurice, in case one of them was recognized. They could not be seen together, not after what Maurice had told Clive. The asylum of Maurice’s flat and the promise of merely a moment of peaceful togetherness urged them forward.

 

Finally they arrived at Maurice’s flat, the safest haven they had ever encountered together. An old brick building, close to the financial district. Maurice was quick to lead Alec to his two-bedroom on the sixth floor, nearly shoving him into the foyer in fervor before locking the door behind them.

 

“This… is all yours?” Alec asked, wide-eyed, as Maurice rushed about, drawing all the curtains in the flat.

 

Maurice nodded, tugging on Alec’s sleeve. “It’s ours. A two-bedroom, but I’ll assume we’ll be sharing the master. I’d ask you to put your things in the second bedroom, though.”

 

Alec scoffed. “Maurice, it’s your flat, you don' ave to be so paranoid.”

 

“I refuse to accept the idea that one can be too careful about these things,” Maurice replied, leading Alec to the second bedroom before retreating to the master. He promptly undressed to his underthings and collapsed upon the double bed.

 

“A real bed,” Maurice called, “not a damp wooden floor!”

 

Alec appeared at the doorway of the master bedroom, shaking his head. “One night in the boathouse is nothing compared to the nights I’ve spent in there waiting for you!” Maurice sighed into a smile as Alec slid under the blankets next to him, resting his head on the crook where Maurice’s shoulder met his chest, Alec’s curls barely grazing his friend’s jaw.

 

“I truly am sorry, Alec. Things are different now, and I’m happier for it,” Maurice admitted, his fingers tracing the length of Alec’s forearm.

 

Alec kissed Maurice delicately on the neck in response. “I can’t believe it, Maurice. This place is bigger than my family’s flat as a boy.”

 

‘It’s ours, and it’s safe,” Maurice whispered into Alec’s hair. Alec's hair--curl upon curl of luscious brown, soft as silk. He could have slept in a bed made of it.

 

Turning around, Alec sat up to face Maurice. “It's not ours, 'cos I'm not payin' for it--y'are, wit' all that money you’ve got, and it don’t feel right to me to be treated this way. Livin’ somewhere I ain’t payin’ rent for.” Alec paused as Maurice propped himself up on an elbow. “I’d be much happier struggling, livin’ day to day as equals than treated like this, Maurice.”

 

Maurice sighed and rolled his eyes. He hadn't even slept a night, and already with the rent! The outburst surprised him, but Alec's intentions did not. Alec had always been proud of his work ethic, his grit, his ability to fend for himself. He didn't appreciate being hand-fed, even if it was out of love.

 

Alec continued. “Maurice, I’m serious. I didn’t give up my job and my family to… to be given everything, with nothin’ in return. Like you said, it’s a chance in a thousand we met, but I need to know that we’re the same. That this is real, and that you’re not giving me all of this for… for a bit of fun. I know y'could, if you wanted to.”

 

“I understand,” Maurice replied, reaching up to brush his hand against Alec’s cheek. “I’ve never meant to make you feel as you do. I’m only giving what I know to give--money, and things. Sometimes it feels like that’s all I am.” Maurice briefly remembered his time with Clive, and Clive’s obsession with status and degrees and pointless politics. He had always wanted nothing more than Clive’s heart, his love, but was shunned in favor of what Clive believed truly mattered.

 

"You're more 'n that, Maurice. I love you, every bit of you. I have since that night, I think.” Alec's sudden profession surprised Maurice; his head started to spin. Alec's eyes pleaded him to return the regard. Those words--Maurice had been tiptoeing around them for the past few weeks. He'd said them easily around Clive-- _I love you,_ calling him darling, pet--and he had lost as quickly as he won. What were words, if they didn't mean anything in the end? Apparently quite a lot, to Alec. But things seemed more delicate this time around. Like he could stumble once, and everything he had ever wanted could be gone from his bed in an instant. The words he chose--they had to be honorable, timeless.  _Constitutional_. 

 

Maurice swallowed. He was silent, his body paralyzed. He opened his mouth, then closed it, opened, closed. _How could he express?_

 

Alec broke Maurice’s fixed, wide gaze and glanced downward, studying the space between their bodies. Maurice felt cold, and noticed he hadn’t been breathing.

 

“'s all right, you don' 'ave to say anythin',” Alec reassured him, clearing his throat. Maurice remembered for a brief moment the absolutely ridiculous scene at Cambridge. He had climbed into Clive’s room through the window, in the dead of night, no less. Just weeks ago, Alec had taken the same risk, coming to Maurice at his weakest. He recalled the cloaked figure at the window, how his heart had thumped out of fear, then lust and fear, then lust--Alec's characteristic newsboy cap, how his eyes had caught the moonlight--

 

“No,” Maurice gasped, finding his voice again. “You are--everything, to me, Alec. I love you. Let me give you everything, or at least everything I have.”

 

Alec let go of Maurice’s hands and wrapped his arms around him, breathing deeply against his neck. The two men shared an embrace, long and ardent, much like their moment of unity the night before in the boathouse at Pendersleigh. All Maurice’s thoughts of Clive dissipated, his heart melting, along with his body, into the bed frame, with Alec against him.

 

***

 

“Tell me about your parents.”

 

It was late afternoon now, though time faded into meaninglessness with the curtains blocking out the near-setting sun. Alec and Maurice disregarded everything but each other. The two men lay on Maurice’s bed, exchanging tender touches across arms and necks and chests.

 

Alec sighed. “They can be a bit cold to outsiders, ‘specially gentlemen folk like yourself,” he pinched Maurice’s arm, “but they loved us. Me ‘n Fred, I mean. My brother.”

 

“Oh yes, I remember him from the boat. A bit forward, he was,” Maurice remarked.

 

“That’s Fred,” Alec chuckled. “He’s always one for attention. Not me though, and I think my parents loved me more for it, if you ask me.” He paused, smiling. A single car whizzed through the street below Maurice’s bedroom window, alone on a Sunday afternoon.

 

“You know,” Alec continued, turning to his back, “we were poor as dirt growin’ up. Me ma used to cry in the other room to my pa, she was so scared we wouldn’t make rent. But every year, on Christmas morning, me n’ Fred got presents. Not a present, but presents. And fresh ham for dinner. I guess me pa got the ham from bein’ a butcher, but it wasn’t ‘till I got older and ‘ad to work before I started to wonder how they could afford those presents. Every year,” Alec sighed, trailing off. Maurice was silent, admiring Alec’s profile, watching his chest rise and fall.

 

“Does it hurt? To be away, I mean,” Maurice asked tentatively. Silence. He wasn't sure Alec had heard him, though he didn't want to press. Alec focused his eyes on the ceiling, trying to quell the lump in his throat. Though he loved Maurice, he couldn’t ignore the melancholy that chipped away at his heart, knowing he’d abandoned the only people in the world that had always had his back. He swallowed hard, squinting back tears. Maurice couldn’t see him cry.

 

Finding his presence again, Alec inhaled sharply before turning back on his side. “What about your family? You ‘ave sisters, right?"

 

“Well, yes, Kitty and Ada. I suppose there’s not much else to say, we’ve never really gotten along, but… Alec, are you all right? Did I say something to upset you?” Maurice pressed, worried he had asked too much.

 

Alec sat up, burying his face in his hands. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, though it was a lie. Memories of his childhood, his family, and the life he had given up raced through his mind. He thought about his neurotic mother, his stalwart father, his irritating yet endlessly charming older brother. He thought about them on the boat, worried sick and frantically searching for their fourth rung, the completion of their unit. These memories--and they were good ones--were all that was left of his previous life, he was beginning to realize. He had thought it all through, the running away, missing the boat, and it was all good and planned, the best decision for his own self, for once--but none of that made it any easier. His heart ached. 

 

“Alec...” Maurice, sensing his friend’s distress, sat up to wrap his arms around Alec’s hunched form.

 

“You wouldn’t understand,” Alec mumbled, fighting tears.

 

“Perhaps I don’t. But if they love you, they’d want you to be happy,” Maurice whispered, pulling Alec closer. “Perhaps you should write them, let them know you’re safe. I bet they’d like that.”

 

Alec let his hands down and leaned into Maurice’s embrace. _They’d want you to be happy_ , Maurice’s words echoed in his head. “You’re right,” Alec conceded, hiding his sniffling. “It’s just hard to… think about how worried they must be.”

 

“They’ll understand,” Maurice comforted Alec, trying to find the words to express how much he truly wished Alec's happiness; as much as the whole Scudder clan, he presumed. “I’m sorry I upset you. I didn’t mean to… to…”

 

“It’s all right,” Alec assured him. “It’s not your fault. But tell me more about Kitty and Ada, and your mother.” The two men lay back down, Alec pressed against Maurice under the blankets, eager to listen. He felt Maurice's voice, the vibrations of his chest as he spoke, no matter the words, could soothe him.

 

“I’m afraid I’ve told you all there is to know, really,” Maurice shrugged. "My sisters and I… we’ve never really gotten along, and my mother always expected too much of me. She wanted me to be like my father, whom I never really knew. All she said was that he was ‘a good, Christian man.’ Can you imagine that?” Maurice asked. “Me, a good, Christian man?”

 

Alec laughed lightly into Maurice’s chest, the ache in his heart beginning to dissipate. “What, you mean I didn’t fall in love with a good, Christian man?”

 

The sounds of merriment of the two men echoed in the halls of Maurice’s otherwise empty flat. Alec leaned forward to kiss Maurice through his giggling, his fingers reaching to trace the smooth curves of his friend’s chest. Maurice melted at his touch.


	3. Routines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The promise of a new future, a happy future, sat before him; a future that he could not have imagined just days ago. Maurice’s eyes, the color of a midday sky, seemed to Alec the only pair of eyes that existed in the world."
> 
> A plan is made. Alec and Maurice fall into a routine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characterizing Alec is so much fun. He seems like the kind of guy who can't stop moving; who shows he cares through actions, rather than words. Again, we get so little from Forster's own work, so I'm just going off inferences.
> 
> I hope his accent isn't too heavy-handed, I tried to emulate it as much as I could from the film. It's really a defining character of his, in my opinion, because it reminds us of Maurice's own growth and the fact that he fell for someone he'd been taught to disregard completely.

1st September 1913

London, England

 

Without the morning sun in his eyes, Alec overslept far past his usual schedule. Sounds of faint conversation and a crackling frying pan roused him from sleep. The speech unsettled him while the cooking food reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since his reunion with Maurice. 

 

“Yes, yes, I understand. No, of course not. Indefinite, yes. Thank you. Yes, thank you very much. Goodbye.” Maurice’s voice, alone on the telephone.

 

Alec leaned against the doorframe, rubbing his eyes. He squinted at Maurice’s fully-dressed form in the kitchen, turning back to the stove, as he grabbed around the dimly lit bedroom for his own underclothes. The crackling pan and Maurice’s off-key humming hid Alec’s careful footsteps out of the bedroom until he stepped behind Maurice, wrapping his arms around his friend before placing a gentle kiss on his neck. Maurice took in a small breath in surprise before reaching backwards to caress Alec’s curls, one hand still tending the frying pan.

 

“Who was on the phone?” Alec whispered into Maurice’s neck.

 

Maurice released the breath he held. “My business partner.” He put down the spatula and turned to face Alec, cupping his friend’s face in his hands.

 

“I have a plan.”

 

Alec’s eyes widened. “A plan for us?” Maurice nodded, smiling.

 

“That’s fantastic! What is it, then?” Alec asked.

 

“Hold on a moment. Sit down, have some breakfast, you’re surely starving,” Maurice gestured toward the table where two places were set across from each other. He placed eggs and sausage on both plates as Alec sat down and began to eat.

 

Maurice joined him at the table. “France,” he said, without taking a bite.

 

Alec cocked his head, his mouth full. “France?”

 

Maurice nodded. “The next boat leaves Saturday morning from Newhaven, landing in Dieppe early Sunday. I’ve arranged to continue working until we depart, as I’ve told them I am leaving for travel indefinitely. I’ll be able to save up even more for rent until we’ve got jobs in Paris, and we won’t have to worry about money for some time.”

 

Alec chewed slowly, then swallowed, taking in Maurice’s plan. “Sounds brilliant, but why France? Why Paris? And how did you know about the ferry?”

 

“The ferry was advertised in the papers. I’ve… read a bit about France,” Maurice said sheepishly, cutting into his fried egg with a fork. “The laws are different there, the people are different. We’d still have to hide, but… we’d be safer.” 

 

“Safer… how?” Alec asked.

 

Maurice reached across the table, taking Alec’s hand in his own. “I’m… not exactly sure, but it’s not like England. And it’s our best chance, maybe our only chance, to be together without such risks as we face here.”

 

In that moment, a sudden and immeasurable feeling of gaiety consumed Alec; his thoughts seeming clearer than ever before and his misgivings vanishing from existence. The promise of a new future, a happy future, sat before him; a future that he could not have imagined just days ago. Maurice’s eyes, the color of a midday sky, seemed to Alec the only pair of eyes that existed in the world. 

 

“Maurice, I…” Alec paused. Though his mind was clear, words eluded him. “I’ve never had a friend quite like…” He shook his head. “I’ve never felt, I should say… about someone…”

 

“It’s all right,” Maurice assured him softly. “I know what you mean. Just eat. I’ll make some coffee.” He stood up from the table and stepped back towards the kitchen counter. “How would you like yours?”

 

Alec cleared his throat, a bit embarrassed at his abrupt and blundering display of affection. “Black, please,” he muttered.

 

Maurice wordlessly served their drinks before consuming his own in a few sips. He then stood up, placed his dishes in the washbasin, and grabbed a brown leather satchel beside his chair. 

 

“Well, I’ll be off then.”

 

Alec stood up, a worried look about his face. “You’re leaving? But we’ve only just had breakfast, and--”

 

“I’ve got work. It’s just down the street--I’ll be back before you know it,” Maurice assured his friend. “Besides, the more time I spend working, dreadful as it is, the more money we’ll have saved up for when we leave.”

 

“And what’ll I do, in your flat all alone? I haven’t got a job to go to… I’ll be bored out of my mind!” Alec argued, exasperated. 

 

“Just think of all the wonderful things we’ll do together in Paris. I’ve got to go now, or I’ll be late.” Maurice pulled Alec close, kissing him lovingly. Alec couldn’t help but sink into the kiss, feeling time stop until Maurice pulled away. 

 

“I’ll see you in a bit,” Maurice whispered as he slipped through the door. 

 

Alec understood why Maurice had to work, and it didn’t bother him that he had left--it was the idleness that Alec couldn’t stand. There had never been a day in Alec’s youth that he didn’t spend either attending school or working for his family, and the unfamiliar feeling of inactivity frustrated him. It was demeaning, really. To sit alone in the flat, completely idle while Maurice worked all day to give Alec everything, like he was some kind of rent boy. He felt empty; useless, even. Sighing, Alec finished his breakfast and started the washing up.

 

Turning on the water, Alec noticed the left handle felt a bit loose. “Just needs a tighten,” he muttered to himself as he mindlessly began to take apart the mechanism. Suddenly an idea dawned on him and he quickly finished tightening the necessary screws, scanning the flat for anything else that might need handiwork.

 

Alec spent the next few hours rushing about the flat, fixing things and listing more things that needed to be fixed. “Loose knobs on the stove, chimney needs sweeping, bedroom window don’t open all the way…” he repeated, mentally checking tasks off as he went, hour after hour.

 

***

 

“Alec, I’ve got fresh rabbit from the market for dinner!” Maurice called, dropping his satchel beside the door.

 

“Alec? Alec?” Maurice called worriedly when Alec didn’t immediately respond. He stepped into the living room where he found Alec, kneeling in front of the fireplace, his suit covered head to toe in soot.

 

“I think you outta call someone ‘bout your chimney, it’s awfully dirty,” Alec remarked, standing up and wiping his hands on his trousers.

 

“Alec… what have you done? What have you  _ been _ doing? Are you all right?” Maurice asked, grabbing Alec by the shoulders and giving him a once-over.

 

“I’m perfectly all right, just been fixing some things ‘round the flat… keepin’ myself busy is all,” Alec reassured Maurice, smiling shyly. “Chimney sweepin’, though, never learned how to do it proper, didn’t want to get myself stuck.”

 

“Alec, you’re filthy, let me draw you a bath and get you some new things to wear,” Maurice offered, tugging Alec to the bedroom. “Did you have anything else? If not, I suppose you can wear my things for now…” Maurice began throwing shirts and trousers from his wardrobe before hurrying to the washroom to turn on the water.

 

“You don’t ‘ave to nanny me, I can draw my own bath,” Alec groaned. “Besides, ‘s my fault, shoulda known I’d ruin my suit.”

 

“Come on in, it’s almost ready!” Maurice called from the washroom, running hot water into the basin. Alec appeared against the doorframe, fully undressed.

Slightly taken aback by Alec’s athletic frame, Maurice cleared his throat and quickly looked away. “Suppose I’ll lay out some things for you in the bedroom, then go make some tea...” he said, standing from his position beside the bathtub.

 

“You don’t have to go,” Alec murmured, grabbing Maurice by the lapel of his suit and pulling him closer. “I’ve missed you all day.”

 

Maurice smiled. “If you insist. But please, get in the bath.”

 

Alec obliged, stepping into the hot water. Maurice returned to his previous position next to the bathtub.

 

“How was work, then?” Alec asked, running wet hands through his unkempt curls.

 

“Horrendous. And horrifically dull,” Maurice replied. “And your day? What exactly did you do to my chimney?” 

 

Alec furrowed his brow, trying to remember his list of tasks from the morning. “Well, first I did the washing up. Next I tightened the sink handle in the kitchen, then I fixed some knobs on the gas stove. Your bedroom window wouldn’t open all the way, think that’s fixed now, too. Then I tried reaching into your chimney, but it was too narrow, so I couldn’t get very far,” Alec explained, blushing a bit at how ridiculous his routine sounded when he described it aloud.

 

Maurice couldn’t help but laugh. “Is there anything you didn’t do?”

 

“Actually, I noticed the bulb in your foyer is starting to go dim,” Alec added.

 

“Alec, you don’t have to go around fixing things in the flat, I can hire someone for that,” Maurice said softly, turning to face his friend.

 

“I need to. I’ll go crazy if I don’t,” Alec admitted. “Besides, it makes me feel better knowin’ I’m not payin’ rent.”

 

“You’re here a week, don’t be ridiculous,” Maurice scoffed. “I suppose if it makes you feel better, there’s no harm in it. But you’ve got to give up on this idea that you owe me anything. I just… happen to have money, and I care about you, and want to keep you safe. If I’m spending money on you, it’s because I want to. Nothing else. I don’t expect anything in return.”

 

Alec sighed, leaning back until just his head remained above water. “I understand. I’m just getting used to… not bein’ poor, I guess.”

 

Maurice stood up. “Let me get you some towels, and something to wear. Tomorrow I’ll take off work early, and we can go into town. I know a tailor, he’ll fix you up with a few things.”

 

“Maurice,” Alec whined, unstopping the tub drain and stepping out of the water.

 

Have you got any other ideas?” Maurice called from the bedroom, where he began laying out some things for Alec to wear. “As much as  _ I  _ wouldn’t mind you walking around as you are, I don’t think the people of England would appreciate it as much.”

 

Alec laughed, wrapping himself in the towel Maurice had laid out for him. 

 

“Here, put these on. They won’t be perfect, but they’ll work. I’ll start dinner.” Maurice handed Alec an old suit of his before stepping back into the kitchen. The suit was a grey herringbone pattern, from his college days. He was slimmer then, therefore it might have a chance at not slipping off Alec’s wiry physique. 

 

***

 

Standing over the counter, Maurice glared at the dead rabbit in front of him. It was skinned, but whole, and he’d have to butcher it to make the stew recipe he’d found in the back of the paper. He’d never been expected to cook at home with three women in the house, though he’d overheard his mother offer tips to Kitty and Ada once in awhile. Struggling to remember, his mind went blank. For now, his meager knowledge of fried eggs and sausage would have to suffice. 

 

“What d’ya think?” Alec now joined Maurice in the kitchen, dressed in Maurice’s suit. It was definitely too big--the trouser cuffs nearly covered Alec’s feet; Maurice’s shirt and suit jacket ballooned with extra space around Alec’s chest. 

 

“It’ll do for tonight,” Maurice replied, holding back a laugh. 

 

Alec stepped over to the counter, eyeing the rabbit in front of Maurice.

 

“Are you trying to butcher that thing?”

 

“Trying, yes, succeeding, no,” Maurice admitted, smiling shyly.

 

“Let me help you. I’m a butcher’s son, ain’t I?” Alec moved toward Maurice, standing directly behind him. After taking off Maurice’s suit jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves, he placed his right hand over Maurice’s, which held the knife, resting the other gently on Maurice’s left hip. “You hold it, with your left hand. There, by the shoulder,” Alec instructed. Maurice awkwardly placed his hand over the rabbit’s front legs, the slimy skin slipping under his fingers. 

 

“First, you’ve got to make a line down the belly--” Alec moved Maurice’s hand down the animal’s abdomen, creating an incision and exposing the animal’s innards. Maurice recoiled at the sight. 

 

“I’m sorry, I’ve never--” Maurice gulped, his face paling.  

 

Alec took the knife, chuckling to himself. “ _ I’ll  _ butcher it, ‘s all right. You make the stew.”

 

***

 

After a dinner of slightly burnt rabbit stew, Alec and Maurice lay in bed, the sounds of rain pattering against the bedroom window. Maurice smoked a cigarette, watching the clouds of smoke rise and twirl above him. Alec rested his head on Maurice’s chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of Maurice’s breathing and listening to his rhythmic heartbeat.

 

“Maurice, may I ask you a question?”

 

Maurice blinked. “Of course.”

 

“When I… came to you, that night at Pendersleigh…” Alec paused. “Had you done anything… like that, before?”

 

“Was it really that bad?” Maurice joked, slightly shocked at Alec’s frankness.

 

“Shut up, you  _ know _ that’s not what I meant. You were as good as anyone.”

 

Maurice blushed, his cheeks warming at the memory. “Well, I suppose I hadn’t…”

 

“With a man?”

 

“With anyone,” Maurice admitted, hiding embarrassment.

 

Alec turned his head to face Maurice. “That’s a surprise, ‘andsome as you are.”

 

“I suppose I’d never been inclined,” he confessed.

 

“Until me,” Alec imparted coolly.

 

“I felt inclined the moment I saw you.”

 

Alec giggled at Maurice’s admission, craning his neck to kiss him fervently.

 

“What about you? Had you ever…” Maurice gestured with his hand, an action that made Alec burst out laughing.

 

“‘Course I ‘ave.”

 

“Well, tell me about it! I want to hear all about Alec in love.”

 

“None of it was love,” Alec scoffed, stealing Maurice’s cigarette and taking a drag. “But if you must know. First there was the dressmaker’s son, back when I was a boy. Then there was the servant girl at--”

 

“A girl?” Maurice laughed. “You’ve slept with a girl?”

 

“Oh hush. Girls aren’t anythin’ special, anyway. They don’ know how to--they just lie there, expectin’ me to do all the work!” Alec griped, Maurice laughing at his friend’s veracity.

 

“Alec?” Maurice breathed, his laughter died down.

 

“Hm?”

 

“I’d like to do that… again.”

 

“Do what again?” Alec grunted, Maurice’s cigarette in his mouth.

 

“That thing… that girls don’t know how to do.”

 

Alec chuckled, sitting up to put out his cigarette. He then leaned back down against Maurice, his hands grasping Maurice’s shoulders. Both men closed their eyes as Alec’s lips found Maurice’s, traveling downwards in a wake of tender kisses.

 

“You don’t ‘ave to ask so politely,” Alec whispered. 


	4. Severed and Joined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I just don’t understand,” Alec muttered, rubbing his left temple.
> 
>  
> 
> “What is it that you don’t understand?”
> 
>  
> 
> “I don’t understand,” Alec’s voice rose as he stood, “why I can’t love you and my family!”
> 
>  
> 
> Alec writes home. Maurice tries to make everything better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANGST. Love me some angst. Yes, this is supposed to be a happy fic, but what's happiness if that's all there is?
> 
> Alec always seemed the kind of guy to get pissed off instead of sad. Like, Maurice isolates himself as a response to grief, but Alec has more of a "I will punch these tears" mentality.
> 
> *some edits at the end, adding more physicality to their relationship.

3rd September, 1913

London, England

 

“Are you writing your family?”

 

Alec nodded. He was hunched over the dining room table, pen in hand, as Maurice returned from work.

 

“I’ve just told them that I’m sorry ‘bout missing the boat, and that I’m leaving and can’t tell 'em where, but I’m safe. And that I love 'em.” 

 

“I’ll send it tomorrow on my way to work,” Maurice offered, pulling on the corner of the letter. Alec’s clenched fist held it in place.

 

“Alec, darling,” Maurice soothed, sensing Alec’s disquiet. He knew by know, had discovered, how painful it was for Alec to simply up and leave his family. Just the image of Alec, from the other night, with his face in his hands--it upset Maurice so, especially as Alec tried to hide his vulnerability, his pain. 

 

“I’m fine,” Alec snapped, letting go of his letter before withdrawing to the bedroom, the door clattering behind him.

 

Maurice picked up the letter.

 

_Dear Ma, Pa, and Fred,_

 

_First things first, I am truly sorry for missing the boat on Saturday. I have made a choice, and I hope you can one day forgive me for it._

 

_I am leaving England, but not for The Argentine. I cannot tell you where I am going or who I will be traveling with, but I can tell you that I am safe and happier than I have ever been._

 

_I want nothing more than to explain my reasons for leaving, but I don't think you could ever understand. I will think about you everyday, and hope that you will never forget me._

_Loving son and brother,_

 

_Alec Scudder_

 

_Happier than I have ever been_ , Maurice reread.  _He says he's happy, and yet_ \--“Alec!” Maurice called, placing the letter back on the table and walking towards the closed bedroom door. “May I come in?”

 

After hearing no response, Maurice slowly opened the door to find Alec sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, a cigarette flopping from his fingers. Maurice sat down next to him, their shoulders touching. He fell silent for awhile, making no attempt at physical intimacy or comfort. Just his presence, he was beginning to learn, was enough sometimes.

 

Finally Maurice spoke. “I am so, so sorry, Alec, I just don’t know what to say to make it better."

 

“I just don’t understand,” Alec muttered, rubbing his left temple.

 

“What is it that you don’t understand?”

 

“I don’t _understand_ ,” Alec’s voice rose as he stood, “why I can’t love you _and_ my family!”

 

“You can, Alec, you just told them, in your letter,” Maurice tried to console his friend, following him as he paced across the room.

 

“No, I didn’t, I told them I did, but then I made a choice 'n I abandoned 'em and that’s not love,” Alec’s pacing stopped, his breathing heavy. He put out his cigarette and ran his hands through his hair. “Look, Maurice, I love you, and I want to be with you. I want to go to Paris with you, and go to museums with you, and lie next to you in bed, a-and make you breakfast, and fuck you silly, but…” Alec trailed off, rubbing his eyes.

 

“But what?” Maurice asked, taking a ginger step towards his friend.

 

“I just don’t understand why I can’t do all those things without giving up my family!”

 

Maurice approached Alec, gently brushing his hand against his friend’s shoulder. “Alec, if they knew you were doing those things…”

 

“It don't matter because they don’t!” Alec shouted, making Maurice jump. “They don’t know 'bout you, but they also don’t know why I’ve abandoned them, or even if I’m dead or alive.” Alec returned to his position on the floor, his anger shifting to sorrow. Maurice sat beside him, reaching an arm around his shoulders.

 

"Alec, if you want to stay in London, or-or go back to them, if you're unhappy--"

 

"I am happy." Maurice blinked. Alec's reddened eyes certainly did not look happy. "I'll go to Paris with you. We'll live our lives and be safe. I want that more than anythin'. It's just hard to-to--" Alec's voice broke, he shrunk into Maurice's arms, like a child. Maurice held him tightly through his whimpers, feeling the hot tears on his suit lapel.

 

“Alec, I can’t even begin to understand the grief you’re feeling, so I won’t even try, but I want you to understand that I would give you the whole world if I knew it would take your pain away.”

 

***

 

5th September, 1913

 

The last few days that Maurice and Alec spent in London passed quickly as they fell into a routine. Maurice left for work each day after breakfasting with Alec, who spent his days studying the books they’d bought on French language and culture. In the evenings, after Maurice returned, the two men shared an evening meal before withdrawing to the living room to practice French conversation and enjoy each other’s company.

 

Neither man was capable of imagining how things could be better in Paris, though they eagerly awaited Saturday morning nonetheless.

 

“Jay pass kay… voos et tray boo,” Alec said proudly one evening, studying his French book on the loveseat as Maurice read a text entitled _Cultural History of Paris, v. II_.

 

“And what in the world is that supposed to mean?” Maurice asked, not looking up from his book.

 

“I called you a handsome man!” Alec explained, leaning into Maurice’s shoulder.

 

Maurice groaned in frustration. “How do you pronounce everything so naturally? I took Greek at Cambridge and even I can’t understand how they manage to fit so many vowels in one word.”

 

Alec shrugged. “Dunno. Guess't just comes naturally to me.”

 

Maurice smiled and kissed Alec on the forehead. “Can you believe we’re leaving tomorrow?”

 

"Last night in the flat, then," Alec murmured, unbuttoning the top few buttons of Maurice's dress shirt, reaching a hand inside, feeling cotton underneath. Disappointment on his face as he glanced up at Maurice. Maurice chuckled sheepishly in response before kissing Alec, on the mouth this time, leading his friend's hand downward. Alec undid the rest of the buttons, untucked Maurice's undershirt and slid his hand upwards, skin against skin. He traced his fingers along the slight curves and angles of Maurice's upper body. This was bliss--touching and kissing and exploring, the crackling fire the only sound to accompany their quickening, deepening breaths. But even more so, Alec thought, eyes closed, was to see Maurice shirtless--his build on full view, tall and strong, but not burly. A true gentleman, if there ever was one. And those eyes. With just the image in his mind, Alec felt weak.

 

Maurice broke the kiss, caught his breath. Alec had that tendency, to take it away, he thought. He glanced at the warm, inviting fire beside them, at the door to the bedroom, back at Alec. To stay in the living room? Or to relocate to the bedroom? A question they had answered nights past, both ways.

 

Without words, Alec understood. "More room, innit," he gestured with his head towards the bedroom. Yes, Maurice remembered, the sofa was a bit small for... well. He nodded, still a bit too breathless to speak, allowing Alec to pull on the bottom seam of his undershirt--no doubt stretching the fabric in the process--leading him towards the bedroom.  

 


	5. A Particular Inclination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You were right,” Maurice admitted, taking Alec’s hand in his. “Our first night in Paris, and it’s already perfect.” The memories of earlier that day, and anything before that, eluded him as he leaned to kiss Alec.
> 
> Alec and Maurice board their boat to Paris. Things move quickly as they enter a world unlike any they'd seen before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Paris was considered the LGBT capital of Europe until after the Cold War, and is still tied with Berlin for the title.
> 
> Another fun fact: I did extensive research on the LGBT community in Paris to make everything as accurate as possible. There were a ton of lesbian landlords that owned apartments and cafés that also acted as bars and meeting places for Paris' gay community during the Edwardian period. The Paris gay scene was a popular hangout spot for American expats, as well as famous authors/painters like Oscar Wilde, James Baldwin, and Radclyffe Hall.

6th September 1913

Newhaven, England

 

Alec and Maurice awoke with the sunrise on the morning their boat was to leave, a morning just on the cusp of autumn when the air had just began to feel crisp. They rode a taxi to Newhaven found no trouble boarding their boat, blending in well with the suited British businessmen also traveling across the Channel.

 

Though crossing the Channel took less than a day by boat, it felt impossibly long. A few hours into the ride, Maurice fell terribly ill with seasickness and spent the remaining afternoon and evening bent over the balcony railing. Plagued with worry over his friend, Alec refused to leave Maurice’s side for the entire trip.

 

“I wish you’d get some rest,” Maurice grumbled, feeling embarrassed at his friend having to see him so violently ill.

 

“My pa was a butcher, I’m not exactly faint of heart,” Alec would reply.

 

***

 

7th September 1913

Dieppe, France

 

The only two passengers above deck as dawn broke, Maurice and Alec were the first to see the twinkling lights of Dieppe gradually appearing in the distance.

 

“We’re here,” Alec whispered into Maurice’s ear, placing his hand on his friend’s back.

 

Maurice shrugged him off, spitting bile into the choppy waves of the English Channel. “Thank God.”

 

***

7th September 1913

Paris, France

 

The train ride into Paris was significantly less eventful as both men were finally able to rest after such a tiresome boat ride. Sleeping soundly and exhausted from travel, they both dreamt of what lied ahead.

 

Stepping off the train and into the streets of Paris, Maurice and Alec found that the city was very much like London. Bustling hordes of people, old and new buildings lining the streets, smog and cigarette smoke billowing endlessly around them--the only discernible difference was that everyone around them was speaking French. Alec had picked up the language quickly and knew many different words, but still struggled to put sentences together. Maurice could barely introduce himself.

 

“Let’s see here…” Alec pulled out the map of Paris he and Maurice had packed, searching for the hotel that they had marked near the train station. “Damn, it’s gotten wet! I can’t see the street names, but I think it’s this way--”

 

“You can’t be serious,” Maurice groaned, peering over Alec’s shoulder.

 

“Maurice, it’s fine. I’m almost positive it’s just down this street. If we get lost, we can ask someone,” Alec offered, putting the map back in his coat pocket.

 

They continued through the crowd, Maurice struggling to keep up with Alec in his weakness. After walking for several blocks, Maurice stopped abruptly, pulling Alec aside.

 

“Alec, I really don’t think this is the right way. We should have passed it by now.”

 

“You’re probably right,” Alec sighed. “Why don’t we stop, get something to eat? Maybe try and make sense of that map again,” he suggested.

 

Maurice agreed, following Alec further down the street until they reached a large brick building with enormous windows through which they could the interior of a café that took up seemingly the entire first floor. It was nearly empty, save for an older, greying man sitting alone near the windows, reading a newspaper, and a small blonde woman at the counter.

 

“Café Marie,” Alec read from the sign as he held the door open, allowing Maurice to enter first.

 

Alec and Maurice made their way to the counter, a glass display case filled with pastries and macarons, the woman offering them a modest smile. She was young and thin, her dress patterned with violets and partially covered with an apron dusted with flour. Her hair fell down her back in long, neat braids.

 

“What would you like?” She asked in French, Maurice understanding none of it.

 

Plagued by exhaustion, Alec stumbled over his words, drifting into incoherency as the men near the windows stifled laughter. The blonde woman held up her hand, smiled brightly, and disappeared behind a door.

 

“Where did she go?” Maurice asked. Alec just shrugged.

 

“Why, hello!” Another woman returned to the counter a few moments later. She was much older than the blonde woman, specks of gray visible at the roots of her dyed red hair. Her plump face was heavily made up, as though it would hide her age rather than accentuate it. Her satin gown, the color of merlot, billowed at the sleeves while the neckline was lined with lace, completing the spectacle of her appearance.

 

“I am Agnes, welcome to Café Marie. Rosalie has told me that you do not speak French well, and that you are English. I speak both languages as my father was American. You are very lucky that I am here, yes? Now what can I get for you?” Agnes’ voice seemed to echo even in such a small room.

 

Alec paused before answering, still delirious from so little sleep. “Please, just coffee,” he stammered, suddenly aware that Agnes’ presence had captured the attention of the other men in the café.

 

“Coffee, of course! You must be so exhausted from traveling.” The woman turned away to prepare the drinks. “Have a seat anywhere, I will bring your drinks to you. What is your reason for traveling to Paris, then? Oh, and please, tell me your names.”

 

Alec and Maurice chose a table close to the counter, out of view of the door and large windows at the front of the building. “I’m Alec, and this is my friend Maurice. We’ve just moved here, actually,” Alec admitted, giving Maurice a questioning look.

 

Agnes strode over to their table, her sleeves fluttering dramatically. She set down a ceramic tray with two mugs and a small plate with several pastries at the center of the table, though Alec had forgotten to ask for anything to eat. “Where will you be living, then? What area of the city?”

 

“There’s a hotel we’re staying temporarily,” Alec told her, pulling out his map. “We actually need a bit of help finding it, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Of course!” Agnes exclaimed, grabbing the map out of Alec’s hands. She stared at it quizzically for a moment before marking the location of the café and drawing a few arrows towards the hotel. “That should be enough, it’s quite close,” she said, handing the map back to Alec. He nodded in recognition as he took a sip of his coffee. Maurice had already devoured two croissants.

 

“So, that is the hotel, but do you know where you will be living? Do you have a flat?” Agnes continued, clearly not taking Alec’s hints.

 

Alec looked worriedly at Maurice, who swallowed his bite of croissant. “That’s a… but of an uncertainty at the moment,” Maurice admitted. “But we’re definitely looking in Paris, so if you are aware of--”

 

“Yes!” Agnes slammed her palms on the table, shaking the mugs in front of her. Maurice and Alec jumped at her gesture. “I do! Actually, I am the owner of this building here, and I have a few vacancies. I might even be able to offer you a special deal, as I do not have any Englishmen upstairs.” Agnes reached out to tug lightly on Alec’s lapel.

 

Maurice laughed nervously. “That would be… fantastic, we would certainly be interested.” He took a sip of his coffee before Agnes could spill any more of it.

 

Agnes spun in a circle, her dress fanning around her. “Wonderful, yes, wonderful! I can show you the empty flats this evening, if you’ll come at sundown. Is that all right?”

 

Maurice glanced at Alec, who returned his glance with a shrug of uncertainty. “Yes, I suppose that will work,” Maurice said, still taken aback by the woman’s persistence.

 

“I will see you at sundown, then!” Agnes finally left Alec and Maurice alone and they breathed a sigh of relief. She stepped behind the counter and opened the kitchen door, the blonde woman appearing in the doorway.

 

“Je veux leur montrer le sous-sol. Je crois qu'ils sont comme nous, mon amour,” Agnes said loudly to the woman. The man at the window laughed audibly.

 

“What did she say?” Maurice whispered, nudging Alec under the table with his foot.

 

Alec shook his head in response. “I have no idea, but I think amour means love. Or maybe something else, I don’t know.”

 

***

 

After a few hours’ rest and a hearty meal at the hotel restaurant, Maurice and Alec returned, fresh-faced, to Café Marie. Their first Parisian sunset saturated the city in a lavender glow as they approached the café, now empty apart from the two women at the counter, engaged in conversation.

 

“Boys! Good to see you have rested.” Agnes leapt from her chair as Alec gingerly pushed the door open, Rosalie following her to greet the two men. She shook both their hands vigorously, her sleeves fluttering. “Would you like some wine? Rosalie and I were just about to open a bottle,” she offered.

 

“That’s very kind of you, but do you think we might be able to see the flat you’re offering?” Maurice asked sheepishly, feeling a bit impolite for declining Agnes’ offer.

 

“Right, the flat!” Agnes clapped her hands to her head, as if she had forgotten their conversation mere hours ago. “It is on the sixth floor. Let’s take a look, shall we?”

 

Agnes led the two men through a door to the side of the café, then up a creaky wooden staircase. The vacant flat was in in the far corner of the floor, isolated from the rest. It was small--not even half the size of Maurice’s two-bedroom in London. Paint peeled from the walls, the wooden floors were scratched and scuffed, tiles were missing in the washroom--but it was a flat. The rent wasn’t horrible, Maurice was certain he could cover it for at least a year with the money he’d saved.

 

“We’ll take it,” he told Agnes. “I have the money for the deposit back at the hotel.”

 

“You can bring it tomorrow when you bring your things,” Agnes said, smiling brightly. “But before we continue I must explain.”

 

“Explain what?” Maurice asked.

 

“You see,” she began, lowering her voice, “Rosalie and I run the café during the daytime. But after the sun sets, there is… something else. In the basement.”

 

Maurice raised his eyebrows, giving Alec an inquisitive glance before Agnes continued. “It is a social gathering place, for a… certain type of person. A person with a particular inclination. And I believe that you boys… possess this inclination.”

 

“I’m… not sure I understand what you mean,” Maurice stammered. He was nervous now, and he could sense Alec felt the same.

 

Agnes stepped closer to Maurice and Alec, blocking their path to the door. “I can show you what I mean. I can take you downstairs. You will understand. But you must remember that you are safe here.”

 

Maurice was still for a moment, unsure how to respond to Agnes’ assurances. He felt Alec tug at his cuff. “Why don’t we just come back tomorrow?” He suggested.

 

Agnes scoffed. “Jeunes et naïfs!” She exclaimed, laughing to herself. “Two men, fleeing England for France, unmarried, with no clear plan in place… It is not that difficult to deduce. But England is not France, and you are _safe_.” Agnes reached out her arms, as if to embrace the two men.

 

“What you’re insinuating, it’s disgusting, and it’s not true!” Maurice blurted. Agnes shook her head in disbelief.

 

“Maurice, wait,” Alec whispered, pulling his friend aside. “You said France would be different. I’m startin’ to think we should just give her a chance.” Maurice sighed and turned back towards Agnes.

 

“Let me show you the basement. If you do not like it, you may leave,” Agnes offered.

 

Alec nodded at Maurice, gripping his upper arm. “All right,” Maurice conceded.

 

Agnes led Maurice and Alec back downstairs and into the kitchen, where they met Rosalie. They stopped at another door before Rosalie pulled out a large ring of keys and began to unlock it. The door within the kitchen led to a windowless corridor containing a staircase made of cobblestone that seemed ancient. The smell of fresh pastries had dissipated, leaving only the scent of damp stone and old wood. Only a few of the candles that lined the walls were lit, making the corridor almost pitch black. In the darkness, Maurice grabbed Alec’s hand as they maneuvered single-file down the narrow stairs.

 

At the end of the staircase, the party was met with a large wooden door. Rosalie unlocked this as well, and Maurice gingerly let go of Alec’s hand.

 

“Here it is,” Agnes said. Sounds of laughter and conversation accompanied by soft piano melodies emanated from the room in front of them. Maurice took in a breath.

 

The door swung open wide to reveal a huge expanse of a room. Mahogany floors in a mosaic pattern were met with paisley wallpaper in a carmine color. The walls extended into crown molding before becoming a steel tiled ceiling. The far right wall contained a built-in bar complete with stocked liquor shelves, while the left wall framed a small stage where a tuxedoed man played gentle background melodies. A crystal and gold-rimmed chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, illuminating the entire room in a warm, ethereal glow. A small crowd of people occupied the ballroom floor, men in suits and women in ballgowns, sipping wine and mingling casually.

 

“Let’s get you two a drink,” Agnes said coolly, leading Maurice and Alec to the bar. Rosalie disappeared back into the kitchen.

 

Alec instantly recognized the bartender--he was the man sitting in the café when they had arrived, the one who had laughed at Agnes’ comment in French, the meaning of which Alec still hadn’t figured out.

 

“This is Henri, the barkeep,” Agnes said as the man shook Alec and Maurice’s hands. He was old, certainly older than Agnes, and his hair, though covering most of his head, had faded into a silvery white. Agnes whispered to him, and he chuckled in response before turning to grab glasses from the cupboard behind him.

 

“So this is what you were talking about before?” Maurice asked, sitting down at a barstool. Alec followed, though Agnes remained standing.

 

“Yes, it’s wonderful, isn’t it?” She gestured dramatically to the center of the ballroom as Henri set down two crystal tumblers of brownish liquid in front of them.

 

“It’s very beautiful, but I’m still not sure what you meant when--” Maurice began, but was interrupted by the sonorous opening bars of a waltz. The two men glanced back towards the stage, though their view was quickly obscured as the patrons of Café Marie hurriedly began to pair off, dancing zealously across the ballroom floor. Even more remarkable was the fact that none of the pairs danced man with woman--each partnership consisted of two men or two women, holding each other, their bodies in sync floating across the floor. When the two men glanced back at each other, Agnes had disappeared. Henri pointed as she waved to them, sipping a glass of merlot, Rosalie at her side.

 

“This is Tchaikovsky,” Maurice chuckled, sipping the brandy Henri had served them but not breaking Alec’s gaze.

 

“See, I told you! I told you we should trust her,” Alec playfully kicked Maurice’s barstool.

 

“You were right,” Maurice admitted, taking Alec’s hand in his. “Our first night in Paris, and it’s already perfect.” The memories of earlier that day, and anything before that, eluded him as he leaned to kiss Alec. His heart faltered at such a display of affection in the presence of others, even if they were of the same disposition as he and Alec. It excited Maurice, to think of the possibilities. Seclusion being the only state in which they could engage in physical intimacy, it felt exhilarating, to be so open. Alec couldn't keep his hands to himself when they were alone, touching and stroking and rubbing, all over, searching, it seemed, like dogs on a scent. And he was so good with his hands, that boy, Maurice half-wondered if there existed any particular rules Agnes might make them adhere to, in terms of physical contact...

 

“Maurice, let’s dance,” Alec pulled his friend off the barstool, the waltz rhythm still echoing in the ballroom.

 

“I’ve never waltzed in my life,” Maurice admitted, a childish grin appearing on his face.

 

“Me neither,” Alec said, wrapping an arm around Maurice's waist.

 

***

 

19th October 1913

Paris, France

 

Agnes, eager to have young and fresh faces at Café Marie, was quick to offer Maurice and Alec work. They started running Rosalie’s homemade hors d'oeuvres and glasses of wine on steel platters to guests, working from dusk till dawn with barely a moment to sit. It was strenuous, but paid enough, and it meant they could spend their evenings alongside each other. Weeks into Alec and Maurice’s employment at Café Marie, Henri announced his retirement. He recommended Maurice to fill his position, which Maurice graciously accepted, alongside a few lessons in French mixology techniques. Alec soon graduated from lowly busboy and server to host, greeting guests as they came and went with Agnes. It was a bit out of his comfort zone, but Agnes claimed it suited him with his skills in French and “endearing” accent.

 

Their flat was tiny and the rent wasn’t cheap, and they worked like dogs until three every morning, but to Maurice and Alec it felt as if the stars had aligned, as if the universe had offered them everything they could have asked for.


	6. Until The Weather Gets Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Maurice had been gone for months now, and yet not a day went by that Clive did not replay their last conversation in his head. He had tried to throw himself into his political career, his studies, and even his relationship with Anne, though it seemed that nothing could impede his thoughts from eventually returning to his friend, an aching emptiness in his heart."
> 
> Clive isolates himself. Anne tries to get through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meanwhile, back at the ranch....
> 
> Clive is SUCH an interesting and tragic character. His hidden homosexuality is much more heavily insinuated in the movie than in the book, but nevertheless his inner conflict between his head and his heart is a lot of fun to write.
> 
> And Anne. I feel so bad for Anne.

7th November 1913

Pendersleigh, England

 

Maurice had been gone for months now, and yet not a day went by that Clive did not replay their last conversation in his head. He had tried to throw himself into his political career, his studies, and even his relationship with Anne, though it seemed that nothing could impede his thoughts from eventually returning to his friend, an aching emptiness in his heart. The constant attempts at comfort from Anne and the endless phone calls from Kitty, Ada, and Mrs. Hall didn’t help, either. He had taken to spending more time locked away in his study than out of it, his massive estate seeming to get bigger and bigger every passing day. 

 

Anne had knocked on the door to Clive’s study one evening. An evening of bitter cold in early November, the beginning of a long and severe season. In some ways, it was Anne who felt the loss of Maurice the most. With no signs of children months into her marriage and a husband retreating deeper into complete isolation with every moment they spent together, Anne had nothing to do on a day-to-day basis than fret over the foyer flowers.

 

“Clive?” She asked quietly, peeking her head in the doorway to find Clive at his desk, his head in his hands, documents strewn about, the curtains drawn tightly behind him. 

 

“Anne, if Ada or Kitty has called again, please tell them I am quite busy at the moment, thank you very much,” Clive snapped, quickly picking up a pen with his right hand and rubbing a temple with the other. He wasn’t intentionally being impolite, Anne reminded herself--it was simply in his nature these days.

 

“It’s not one of the Halls, it’s just me.” Anne stepped inside Clive’s study, closing the door silently behind her. “I was wondering if you’d like to have a drink with me by the fire. It’s dreadful outside, and quite late, Clive.”

 

Clive sighed, a wistful, sorrow-filled sigh that Anne had heard many times before. “Anne, you know better than to disturb me while I’m working.” 

 

“I don’t like it very much that you work so often, and so late into the night,” Anne nearly whispered, moving slowly towards her husband’s desk. She had found that the quieter she spoke, the less likely Clive was to get upset and distance himself further. “I’ve been thinking that maybe we should spend some more time together, to take your mind off of politics, and Mau--”

 

“ _ Please _ , Anne.” Clive held up his hand, still avoiding Anne’s gaze.

 

Anne approached Clive, resting her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “I think some time off might be in order. The stress isn’t good for you, Clive.”

 

Clive fell silent for awhile, putting down his pen and leaning back in his chair. “You know, Anne, you might be right,” he finally replied. “If I lose this next election--and it’s likely I will, considering my recent record--I think I may take some time off from politics. To travel, I’d expect.”

 

“Oh, Clive, that’s wonderful,” Anne exclaimed.  “And where do you think we ought to travel to? America, perhaps? Or India--I’d love to see India!”

 

“France, actually.” Clive stood up from his desk, turning to open the curtains behind him. “Though Anne, I think I’d like to travel alone on this trip.” 

 

“Well, if you think that would be best,” Anne conceded, watching her husband’s profile in the windowpane. The porchlights outside reflected light off the snowy ground, alighting Clive’s features in a ghostly pale glow. “I’d prefer if you’d wait, though, at least until the weather gets better.”

 

“Yes,” Clive agreed, “until the weather gets better.”


	7. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Alec, please,” Maurice pleaded as Alec undressed in the washroom, the door closed.
> 
>  
> 
> “I suppose I’ll never talk to another man in my life, if that will make you happy, Maurice. Only women for me!” Alec called through the door.
> 
>  
> 
> “Alec, you know that’s not what I meant!”
> 
>  
> 
> Alec gets attention from men. Maurice isn't sure how to respond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alec loves Maurice, but I think he secretly likes the attention he gets. Cute, young, and British--the Frenchmen and American expats are falling over him.

20th November 1913

Paris, France

 

“Is your French getting better?” Alec sat down at a barstool, taking a break after the evening’s rush of guests had died down.

 

“Oui, oui,” Maurice replied, sliding an older woman in a fur coat a glass of chardonnay. He pocketed the few francs she had placed on the counter before leaning over the bar to kiss Alec, but paused as another man approached them.

 

“Alec Scudder, oui? J’m’appelle James Buchanan.” The man tipped his hat, revealing straw yellow hair, like Maurice’s, but pressed tightly against his skull. He extended his hand towards Alec, who shook it in return. 

 

“You’re from England, right? I’ve noticed you here before. I can speak English, if that’s easier. I’m actually American, living in Paris, of course,” the man continued. He wore a tweed three piece suit, the chain of an expensive gold pocketwatch visible over his waistcoat. 

 

“Where in America are you from?” Alec asked the man. Maurice had stepped away, disengaging from the conversation, though he listened attentively from the other side of the bar. 

 

James sat down in the barstool next to Alec, angling himself to directly face him. “I’m a painter, actually. The culture, the art in Paris had always attracted me to the city. After visiting a few times, I knew I couldn’t stand to live anywhere else.”

 

“I’ve never met a painter before, or an American,” Alec admitted, leaning his head on his hands. Maurice’s jaw tightened as he meticulously scrubbed a martini glass. 

 

James chuckled. “There’s a lot of us here, in Paris. Expatriates, we’re called. Artist and writer types. And what brings you across the channel, then?”

 

“I came to France so I could be happy, which I couldn’t do in England, if you’ll let me leave it at that,” Alec said. Maurice set down the martini glass a bit too forcefully, feeling unsettled at the ease at which Alec was opening up to this man.

 

“I know what you mean,” James said. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d…” He leaned farther in his stool towards Alec, closing the gap between them. “I was thinking you could pose for me, for my paintings, I mean.”

 

Alec blushed, laughing nervously. “I’m not sure… I’ve never…” 

 

“It’s all right, I’ll let you think about it. But let me buy you a drink first?” James offered.

 

“He’s not interested.” Maurice paused before realizing the words came from him. 

 

Alec turned, glaring at him in both anger and disbelief.

 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” James asked politely.

 

“He doesn’t want you to buy him a drink,” Maurice insisted, stepping closer to where Alec and James sat. His hands shook, out of anger and panic. Confrontation had never been in his nature. 

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” James apologized, getting up from the barstool. “I’ll leave you to your work, Alec.”

 

Alec waited until James had gone out of earshot. “What in the bloody hell was that?” He hissed.

 

“He was coming on to you, Alec! He offered to buy you a drink, for God’s sake!” Maurice shot back, whispering to avoid causing a scene.

 

“So I’m not allowed to have a conversation?” Alec demanded. “You can be a real arse sometimes, Maurice,” he seethed, returning to Agnes at the door and avoiding Maurice’s glances the rest of the night. 

 

***

 

“Alec,  _ please _ ,” Maurice pleaded as Alec undressed in the washroom, the door closed.

 

“I suppose I’ll never talk to another man in my life, if that will make you happy, Maurice. Only women for me!” Alec called through the door. 

 

“Alec, you know that’s not what I meant!”

 

Alec opened the door, leaning against the doorframe in his pajamas. “And what exactly did you mean, then, hm? What did you mean by butting into my conversation?”

 

“He was obviously coming on to you! He asked you to pose for his paintings!”

 

Alec crossed his arms, pouting. “I didn’t even say yes! I wasn’t going to fuck him, if that’s what you’re so worked up about.”

 

Maurice scoffed. “I didn’t think you were going to fuck him, Alec! That’s not what this is about!”

 

“Oh yeah? Then what  _ is _ it about?” Alec challenged. “Are you jealous? Are you upset that ol’ Alec, the rough ‘n ugly gamekeeper, gets more attention from men than you? That you’re not the only man in all of Paris that thinks me handsome?”

 

Maurice was quiet. Alec smirked at his apparent victory, then sat down next to Maurice on the bed, worried he’d struck a nerve. 

 

“Maurice, I wouldn’t have done anythin’, you know that. I woulda had a drink with him, but if he’d said anythin’ else I woulda said no, sorry, I’ve got someone else,” Alec reassured him.

 

Maurice sighed. “No, you’re right. I shouldn’t have interrupted you. It’s my fault. I don't know what came over me."

 

“It’s all right, I probably woulda done the same thing,” admitted Alec, leaning his head against Maurice's shoulder. “And an American. Could you imagine? Me, with an American?” Maurice laughed at such a peculiar notion, a tiny pang of sadness still present in his heart at the thought of losing Alec. 


	8. Shan't Be Parted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They looked not with lust, not even smiling, but as if they were seeing each other for the very first time. And in a way, there were--seeing each other not as fugitives, not as a secret to be held--but seeing each other as men, men that loved one another more than words could express, for the very first time."
> 
> Christmas in Paris. Maurice and Alec get their happy ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all!! For reading, and continuing to read. 
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed the happy-ever-after, told in snippets, that I've created for Maurice and Alec. I just wish all queer love stories ended the same way.

25th December 1913

Paris, France

 

 

“Happy Christmas!” Alec sang, waking Maurice with a kiss.

 

Maurice woke, rubbing his eyes. “Happy Christmas,” he responded. The bedside window appeared cloaked in white due to the heavy snowfall the night before that had continued into the morning. Church bells rung quietly in the distance, the noise muffled by the snowy streets. Maurice lay under three blankets, pressed up against Alec for even more warmth.

 

“Let’s open presents,” Alec chirped, springing up from the bed like a child.

 

Maurice laughed at his youthful energy. “All right, I’ll go first.”

 

Alec handed Maurice his present, wrapped neatly in newsprint, as Maurice sat up in bed. He carefully undid the ribbon, trying not to rip the wrapping.

 

“Silk pajamas! These are wonderful, Alec, I can’t wait to put them on,” he exclaimed, extending his arm to unfold the pajamas completely. They were light blue, pinstriped with white, and made of a fine, expensive silk. “I love them, thank you.” Maurice leaned forward to hug his friend.

 

“I’m so glad,” Alec replied.

 

“Now, hold on a moment.” Maurice got up from the bed and walked over the wardrobe against the opposite wall. He opened the bottom drawer and retrieved a small velvet box.

 

“This--” he held up the box, “--is your present,” he said, handing it to Alec.

 

Alec, wide-eyed, looked up at Maurice, who now sat across from him on the bed. Maurice nodded at him. He shook the box, feeling its smooth surface.

 

“Go on, open it,” Maurice urged.

 

Inside the box was a silver ring. “Maurice, this is… this must have been so expensive!”

 

“I saved up a bit, yes,” Maurice admitted sheepishly. “Put it on, I think I got the size right.”

 

Alec started to slide the ring on his right ring finger. “No, no, no,” Maurice interrupted. “Your left hand.”

 

Alec blinked. “But that’s…”

 

Maurice smiled, removing the ring from Alec’s right hand and slipping it gently along the finger on his left.

 

“See?” Maurice whispered. He held out his own left hand, which bore an identical ring on the same finger.

 

“Maurice…” Alec gasped, laying a hand along the side of Maurice’s face.

 

“ _Now_ we shan’t be parted,” Maurice breathed, echoing Alec’s words from the boathouse months ago.

 

Alec remembered that night, months ago, as he locked and Maurice locked into a fixed gaze that seemed everlasting. They looked not with lust, not even smiling, but as if they were seeing each other for the very first time. And in a way, there were--seeing each other not as fugitives, not as a secret to be held--but seeing each other as men, men that loved one another more than words could express, for the very first time.

 

Alec tried to speak, to articulate his affection, but only air escaped him before Maurice stretched out his arms and held Alec, embraced him. A tight embrace, gripping, suffocating, as they folded into each other. Not careful, they were tired of being careful. An embrace as rough and as raw and as real as the passions they held, hidden for too long.

 

***

 

After sharing a merry Christmas dinner consisting of baked ham and several bottles of wine with Agnes and Rosalie, Maurice and Alec stumbled up to their flat and prepared for bed.

 

“Alec, could you help me?” Maurice asked, gesturing to the buttons on his shirt. The darkness of a winter’s night and the copious amount of alcohol each man had consumed made undressing quite the operation.

 

Alec, his own shirt only half-on, stepped towards Maurice and began to work the buttons. Pulling Maurice’s off shirt in a sharp downwards motion, Alec ran his fingers up and down Maurice’s chest, making little shapes across his body.

 

“Alec, let’s at least get into bed first,” Maurice purred, placing a hand on the small of Alec’s back. Alec took a step forward, pushing Maurice in front of him, until he had his friend pinned against the wall. He kissed him aggressively, hungrily, teeth clicking teeth, before wrapping his arms around Maurice’s neck and resting his head on Maurice’s shoulder.

 

“I don thing I’ve toldja 'nuff that I love ya,” Alec slurred, his breath hot and sour with wine.

 

“Alec, you’re drunk.”

 

“So?” Alec grunted, struggling to undo his belt.

 

Both men giggled as they slipped under the blankets, drunk on French wine and true love, happy to simply exist as long as they were next to one another.

 

“You know, Alec, sometimes I think…” Maurice began.

 

“Sometimes you think?”

 

“Shuddup! Let me finish.” He started his thought again. “Sometimes I think what I’d be doing right now, if you hadn’t come that night at Pendersleigh.”

 

Alec turned over to his side, pressing his nose to Maurice’s ear. “Why wouldja think such horseshit?”

 

“I… I dunno…” Maurice paused. “Alec, I’ve been meaning to ask you a question.”

 

“Well ask, then.”

 

“How did you know?”

 

“How do you mean?” Alec’s brow furrowed.

 

“I mean, how did you know to come to my room that night? How did you know I would take you?”

 

“I ‘ad knew ‘bout you n’ Mr. Durham for awhile.”

 

“Are you serious?” Maurice gasped.

 

Alec broke out in laughter into Maurice’s neck. “ _Are you serious!_ ” He mocked. “Maurice, you’ve changed a lot, but all ‘a you gentleman folk are still the same. You treat the help as if they don’ exist! You ‘n Mr. Durham were the talk of Pendersleigh, the servants that is. All the servant girls and even Simcox claimed they’d seen you two kissin’ when ya thought no one was lookin’!”

 

Maurice blushed bright red in embarrassment, but couldn’t help but grin at the sound of Alec’s laughter. “I suppose that’s a bit funny.”

 

“In any case, that’s how I knew. Then Mr. Durham got married, and you seemed so sad all the time. Sad, but handsome. Tall, blonde, ‘n all. I knew I had to be bold, or I’d lose my chance,” Alec explained.  _Handsome_. Maurice blushed at the word. He had never thought himself particularly attractive--average; a bit above, at best. Clive's habit of shunning physical intimacy hadn't helped. But that word-- _handsome--_ had escaped Alec's mouth so very often lately, among others. Strapping, lovely, beautiful, even. A melody, really, it was, to hear Alec's voice, calling him those things. 

 

“If you hadn’t been so bold…” Maurice speculated, then shuddered at the thought. Reaching an arm down Alec’s back, he pulled his friend closer until Alec’s curls lay gently against Maurice’s jawline.

 

“And what about me, eh? What didja think, when you first noticed me?” Alec asked.

 

“I tried not to notice you at first,” Maurice admitted. “You were lovely… Slender, but strong, funny, but not in a rude way… And so kind. I felt like I knew you, even though I didn’t. But I ignored you, and my thoughts of you at first. At the time I was still… trying to change.”

 

“You don’t mean?”

 

“Yes,” Maurice chuckled. “I mean exactly that. I tried to see women as most men do, I really did…”

 

“But a leopard can’t change its spots,” remarked Alec, unaware of the irony of the phrase.

 

Maurice smiled. “No, I should think he cannot.”

 


End file.
